Spicy Noodles
by mangotea
Summary: Melan has been too knightly for Marin's tastes all these years—or in other words, utterly chaste. So when Marin's dull, everyday routine at a noodle shop is interrupted by a stranger wielding sex appeal, of course things go awry. AU. [Marin x Melan]
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! Please consider this an AU fic (Marin is a hard-working, 20-something-year-old woman), probably with some serious OOC-ness because I haven't seen the show in a long time. I just wanted to put ye olde Marin & Melan in an uncomfortable situation and see how it turns out. Hope you enjoy the drama, the noodles, and the eventual stripping of skin-tight body armor! I own nothing but Nana's Noodles.**

 **Rated M for lemon(s). Fantastic ones, I'm sure. I mean how sexy are those appendage things of Melan's? Pretty damn sexy.**

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Cleaning the counters of Nana's Noodle Shop at the end of the day always helped Marin think. Today she really wasn't interested in going home, anyway. Seeing everyone just reminded her of her birthday next week, and _him_.

Marin would never admit it to Melan, but she was frustrated. They'd made it this many years together on the occasional x and o, but now that she was approaching her twenty-third birthday, the sexual tension that surrounded her could be cut with a knife. And she had no idea what she was going to do about it.

They'd had this talk when she turned sixteen—yes, they loved each other, but no, it was quite obvious they couldn't have _that_ kind of a relationship, what with his being what he was, and her being human. And who needed it, anyway? _Plenty_ of relationships survived on emotional connection alone.

At the time she was too nervous to argue, and she still worried if Melan simply couldn't see her that way, if he just weren't wired for it.

The clock told her it was five minutes until closing time. She ignored it, didn't make her usual dash to the door to flip the sign. Instead she continued wiping the counter, not sure how much time had passed before the door was flung open, setting off the chimes above it. Her head jerked up. There was a stubbled, ruggedly attractive man in jeans coming to sit at one of the counter stools. He looked confused.

"I didn't realize you were still open," he said, glancing at the clock. She followed his gaze. Ten-thirty. How had she let half an hour go by?

She stared at the man. He looked strung out, hungry and tired, and not really convinced she was going to serve him anything, what with the other chairs in the room sitting upside-down on the tables, and the mop ready to go in the corner with a soapy bucket. Plus there was the rag in her hand.

She shrugged; it was her fault anyway. "We're not," she said. "Not usually, but tonight must be your lucky night. I forgot to close up. What'll it be?"

His smile was huge. It creased his cheeks—she noticed she was paying way too much attention to his face. And to his shoulders, which were, well, broad. Manly. Shaped as a man's might be. Up close, she realized she was looking at a fine example of a male; her brain was labeling him all too clearly to her. Man. Male. Guy.

She hoped she wasn't blushing, and, even more, that he couldn't see the neon "desperate" sign on her forehead that she'd been projecting lately. She turned away abruptly, walking around the bar to flip the sign on the door while she waited for him to answer.

"This is amazing," he said while she walked. "I just had one of the worst days of my life, and I thought to top it all off I'd go home hungry, but then I saw the lights on in this place!" He was practically glowing. She noticed, from behind, that he had a slim waist, big feet hanging from long legs….

She couldn't find her voice to answer him properly, so she just delivered a curt, _Mhm_.

"So, um…I guess I'll have the special, since I don't know what's on the menu," he said, and she realized she hadn't given him one. Most people who came to Nana's already knew what they wanted anyway, but she should have known better.

"Would you like one?" she asked. "I can—"

"No, that's OK. I'm not picky. Well, not about food anyway."

He smiled at her, and this smile was very particular. It took her all of half a second to figure that one out. What took her longer was deciding how she should respond, and that upset her. She was used to being flirted with at the counter; it was a daily occurrence. What she wasn't used to was hesitating before blowing someone off. This time she stared blankly at him for way too long, maybe even cocked a smile. _Was she flirting back?_

"One special coming up," she said quickly, disappearing into the kitchen. When she got there, she slumped against the wall and took a massive breath. She'd been alone in the store plenty of times with attractive men. Why, God, _why_ did she have to be so flighty this particular night? Why did she have to have an alien boyfriend who wouldn't do _anything_ with her?

She whipped up the noodles in record time and slammed a bowl down in front of the stranger, then turned her back and proceeded to clean the floors. He picked up his chopsticks, wary of her apparent mood swings, but soon enough he was eating peacefully. She felt a wave of relief come over her; she might actually make it through the next ten or so minutes without jumping a stranger. As she mopped, she promised herself she would purchase a very fancy vibrator the very next day and name it Melan—she saw no other options.

"Hey," she heard the man say, and she stopped mopping.

"What? Are the noodles all right?"

"Actually." He was smiling again, turning in his chair to look at her. "These are delicious. I honestly didn't think I'd get so lucky tonight. Do you think I could get a beer?"

She checked the clock again. It was getting close to eleven. Melan and the rest of her family would be wondering what she was doing out this late.

"I understand if you'd rather I ate quickly and left," the man added, sensing her discomfort.

"No," she heard herself say. "Stay. I'm not in the mood to go home just yet anyway."

"Hard day?" he asked.

She popped open two lagers and nodded. "Something like that. Here."

He guzzled it. So did she. Then they stared at each other. He laughed first. Then he stuck out a hand.

"Jund," he said, and looked at her expectantly.

A part of her screamed in protest, said that shaking his hand was an invitation for something else entirely. Actually, this part of her had been screaming for the past half hour, since Jund arrived; she was only just now hearing it.

Holding tightly to her beer, she smiled and nodded at him, then turned around and pretended to be tidying something behind the counter. "Nice to meet you, Jund."

He hesitated a moment before asking the question she'd been expecting, his voice conveying all of his disappointment that she hadn't shaken his hand. "May I ask your name?"

"It's…." She turned around, looked him up and down. He seemed trustworthy enough, dressed in a faded winter coat and jeans. His eyes were calm, a cappuccino brown. What was the harm of a name? "Marin."

"Pretty," he said, and smiled. She smiled back, then realized with horror that she was blushing. Looking away in shame did nothing to help hide it, either. She caught his smile widening as she turned to escape.

"Thanks for letting me in, Marin. I lost a ton of important blueprints today at work, and I had to spend hours recovering them. By the time I got out of the office, everyone was closed…except this place." He pulled out his wallet and dropped a fifty on the counter. "Consider this my way of saying thanks."

She eyed the bill. She never liked big spenders; they always expected too much gratitude, but Jund seemed perfectly content with what he'd received already. Or so her blurry mind was telling her. "That isn't necessary," she said.

"I know, but neither was sharing a beer with me. Care for another?"

She held up her hands. "No, no. Not tonight."

"Not tonight?"

"I mean no. Just no. Thank you."

His smile continued all the way out the door. "Good night. Marin."

She watched this stranger disappear down the lighted street, the door jingling long after he'd left. She didn't know how long she stood like that, wondering what had just occurred, and why something inside of her felt deeply satisfied and excited, and guilty. _What did I just do?_ she asked herself blankly.

When she returned home that night, all she could think about was Jund. Melan picked up on her distractedness right away, but his mind would have no way of grasping the reason for it. That only made her more depressed. Some jealousy, some suspicion, even a little eyebrow raise when she got home at midnight would have been better than the completely trusting smile she got instead. A little worried, maybe, that things at the shop had been especially busy, or that the streets were dangerous, but nothing close to the truth. It made her feel like less than a woman, which she knew was silly, but then, so was dating an alien. She was a silly woman.

"I think it would be wise if you took me with you to work, Marin," Melan said as she helped herself to some instant noodles in a foam cup. Working at a specialty noodle shop only made her want the fake stuff more than ever.

"We talked about this," she said. "I'd prefer if you stayed at home, in case anything happened."

"But I'm linked to _you_ , Marin. I can't help but…"

"But what?"

"Worry."

This made her blush so much she finished all of her noodles in a single slurp to hide her face, burning her tongue thoroughly in the process.

"Marin!" she heard Melan say as she buried herself in noodles. "Be careful!"

When she came back for air, her cheeks were bright red. "I don't need you to protect me, Melan," she said without thinking, "I need you to lo—"

As she watched his face flatten to utter stillness, waiting for her to finish a sentence that terrified him, she realized what she was about to say and locked up.

"Um, I mean, I need you to trust me, Melan."

His face relaxed a little. Really, his expressions were getting good. Apparently he wasn't sure how to answer her, so he simply looked at the discarded foam cup she'd slammed on the tatami of the tiny bedroom.

She wanted to tell him not to sulk, but she knew that wasn't what he was doing. He just didn't know what to say. Sometimes it took real effort not to treat him like a human.

But maybe that was the problem.

Looking him over carefully, she got an idea. If he could feel like a human and talk like a human, then maybe it was _right_ for her to treat him more like one. She reached carefully for his gun arm, picked it up, and laid it down in her lap. Melan seemed startled but otherwise didn't move. Apparently he did trust her.

"Marin, what are you doing?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. She didn't know what she was doing anymore. "I just wanted to touch you."

Was it her imagination, or did he blush? No, that wasn't possible. It was just something in the way he averted his eyes that made her see it. Still, he was responding to her touch, and that meant there was hope. Her eyes drifted to his shoulders, wide, armored, then lower to the tenderer surface of his stomach, and then lower….

What was under that protective layer? She'd wondered many, many times in the past few years, but she'd never managed to see it, or to ask. Now, though, something had changed. She was reaching a breaking point. All at once, as she stared lecherously at her clueless boyfriend, Jund came to mind. She looked down at the gun in her lap and imagined his tan arm, all five of his lightly furred fingers. The warmth from him that Melan would never have.

She let go immediately, leaving Melan looking at her with what seemed to be disappointment, but she was probably making that up, too.

"Marin, is everything O—"

"Everything's _fine_. I'm going to bed," she said with a huge sigh. Then, remembering herself, she turned to smile at him, but something stopped her from pressing the usual tender kiss to his cheek that they exchanged every night. She knew he was waiting for it, but the image of Jund kept interrupting her, making her pause. "I'm not feeling well," she added.

He nodded. "Do you need anything?"

"Only some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

His silence was full of concern.

"Don't worry, Melan," she added emphatically.

"Marin."

"Yes?"

He hesitated. "Good night."

For over an hour that night she wriggled in her futon, thinking of Jund and his fully functioning hands. Of what it would be like to have a real human boyfriend to share the bed with. She snuck a glance Melan's way, watching his chest in its perfect stillness. No rise and fall of breath. No dreams. He wasn't even really sleeping in the way she understood it.

She shook her head—she loved Melan. Of course she did. Of course she did.

Sleep didn't find her until five in the morning. Since she had to run errands before work the next day, this left her a conflicted, exhausted heap when she loped into Nana's Noodles that afternoon. Not a good combination for running into a certain stranger for the second time. 

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**Bad decisions ahead, followed by great ones. :)**

 **xoxo**

 **mangotea**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey! Welcome to Chapter 2, in which we get ever closer to a volcanic eruption. Some smooching here, but nothing serious. No rain boots required until next chapter. (Marin isn't _that_ easy.) Hope you enjoy!  
**

 **Winterbornbree—Thanks so much for your sweet review! (I know—the _Brigadoon_ section could put on some weight. lol) Getting involved with a strange man is never the best choice. XD But then that's exactly what she did when she met Melan, so I dunno how much hope there is for her. Just kidding; she's great. Shenanigans? No. This is absolutely pure. :)  
**

 **RushToward—That's some witchcraft right there; we must be psychically linked. (Seriously, what does this mean.) I'm glad you decided to give it a read! And thank you so much for your thoroughly encouraging review! (O'-'O) Your "too relatable" comment is making me laugh, and obviously I'm swooning at so many compliments. Thank you. :) You are a close reader—thanks for asking about the extent of the AU. Yes, they have been to Hell (Brigadoon) and back together in this scenario. They're irrefutably close; Marin is just having an early mid-life, because I can't imagine a girl so young wouldn't have issues committing to someone so deeply. In this fic, she and Melan decided together they just wouldn't mess with sex, to keep things simple, but that decision was made years ago. And since she's probably twice the gentleman Melan is, she hasn't brought it up at all. So yes, she's definitely assuming (Melan's a sexual beast). I'd like to say I can defend her more here, but I really can't, so my simple answer is don't take it too seriously. ;P You'll definitely find discrepancies. And ha ha to the noodle "chugging." XD Perfect word for it. I'm glad that's working and not coming across as noodle overload (apparently I'm hungry for noodles—there are plenty more to come). Oh that is a cringe-worthy pun. Thanks!  
**

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"I wondered if you were working this evening," Jund said when he sat down at the bar counter.

Marin turned, startled, not so much to see him again—though that was surprising—but that she remembered his voice as though she'd heard it her whole life.

"Um, Jund, right?" she said, feigning uncertainty. Because after staying up all night thinking about him, of course she was damn sure.

"Right." He smiled. "Marin."

"Good memory," she said halfheartedly, catching herself before she could smile back. Her heart thudded madly with little reason to. Men weren't exotic to her. At least, she'd thought they weren't. And it wasn't like Jund was all that remarkable. Handsome, yes, but nothing she hadn't seen before. Brown eyes, brown hair. He'd shaved since yesterday, but his clean-shaven face was no less alluring. Still, it didn't compare to Melan's, whose sharply cut features and brilliant red eyes could make her breathless.

"I'd like the special again today," said Jund. He seemed to have noticed her studying his face and was now smiling more broadly. The kind of man who knew when he was being assessed. She looked away.

"I can get you a menu," she said.

"I don't need one. I know the special will be good. Oh, and a beer please. Whatever you picked yesterday."

She brought him one, feeling vaguely annoyed now by his arrogance, something she should have picked up on the night before. He seemed to read her body language better than Melan would ever be able to. She was lonely, and Jund knew it. And now, because of how she'd acted yesterday, he also knew he had the power to move her. How far that power extended, he seemed keen on finding out. Just showing up here tonight was a simple show of testing the limits. Now she held the cards in a game she never should have started.

She avoided him as best she could, serving the handful of other regulars who were finishing their dinners and becoming sleepy-eyed. A couple in the back exchanged loving smiles that made her think suddenly of Melan, overwhelming her with mixed fondness and guilt. And while something about the youth of the evening made Jund easier to resist, she was somehow wordlessly aware that this peace wasn't going to last.

The moment the last few customers ambled out the door for the night, the oppressive feeling of being alone in the shop with him took over. She could almost hear his every move. The scraping of his feet against the bar stool. The chopsticks in his mouth. It was almost closing time, and still he picked contentedly at a half-full bowl of noodles. His fingers tapped on an empty mug—he wanted another.

"How is it?" she asked, gesturing to his bowl, pretending not to notice his impatient hand.

"It's just as delicious as it was last night," he said, and took a bite for her benefit, smiling over his chopsticks. His teeth grazed them slightly, entrancing her enough to watch the whole bite from start to finish.

"Mhm," she heard herself saying as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Marin."

The sound of her name startled her. He'd said it before, but tonight it was laced, and thickly. She looked up from his throat. "Yeah?"

"Do you always look this sad?"

And there is was. The pick-up line. She should have scoffed at him. Instead, she nearly started crying, and that was all the proof she needed to know she'd gone over the edge.

"It's my birthday next week," she said without meaning to. "I guess I'm feeling old."

" _Old?_ You can't be much older than twenty."

"Twenty-three," she said, and he nodded attentively.

"Well, I'm twenty-eight, so unless you think I'm old—"

She smiled. "Stop. I know I'm overreacting."

"I didn't say that."

"Listen, Jund." An unintended gentleness in her voice betrayed all of her attraction to him as she wiped the counter. "It's almost time for me to close up. I'll give you a few minutes to finish your dinner, and then I'm going home."

"It sounds to me like you'd rather stay."

"What gave you that idea?"

Shrugging, he slurped up a line of noodles. "Sorry, guess I'm just imagining things. But if you'd like to share a beer…."

She hesitated. "Will it make you eat faster?"

The grin was back. "Probably."

She opened two. He didn't bother pouring his into the mug. His lips on the bottle were distracting, the little pop noise they made when he pulled away. Unsurprisingly, it didn't take long for Marin to be opening a second for herself, a third for Jund. The clock on the wall moved its little hands around and around, and she glanced at it only to notice its roundness, its faint ticking that should have signified something to her but didn't.

She knew she shouldn't be doing it, any of it. Her body lurched in protest, giving her actual muscle pains from nothing but guilt. Still, she ignored it, drinking her lager more quickly than she should and finding herself leaning against the bar counter, laughing at Jund's jokes about the architects he worked with. When she finally realized she hadn't flipped the sign on the door, she stood with a slight wobble, walking lightly all the way around the bar and behind Jund to get to the door. On her way back, he reached out a hand to steady her. She avoided it like a hot iron.

"You OK?"

"Just fine, thanks." She pushed on toward the other side of the bar. It's twelve inches of metal made a nice boundary between them. Without it, she worried about what she might do to this man she hadn't known longer than a day. "It's time for you to leave, you know."

Alcohol always made her more honest. While she wasn't drunk enough not to be able to stop herself if she needed to, the problem was she didn't want to.

Jund looked at the clock. "It is late. You have someone waiting on you at home?"

"That's none of your business." She said this quickly, but her friendliness hadn't dissipated.

"You're right. It isn't. I just thought I'd check. I don't want to give myself ideas if you're already taken."

"Ideas," Marin said impatiently. "You're not the only one with ideas."

"Yeah?" He leaned back some in his stool, crossed his arms. She'd piqued his interest, and now she didn't know where to go with it. Where was the line? Had she already crossed it?

"Yeah," she said, her mind dissolving into the experience of sharing beers with an honest-to-God man, of how easy it would be to—

"All right, well in that case, it _is_ time for me to leave," Jund said, interrupting her thoughts and disappointing her immensely when he stood from his bar stool.

She was certain she hadn't heard him right. "What?"

Laughing in his gentle tenor, he fished for his wallet and put a twenty on the counter. "I'd rather make my ideas reality," he began, and leaned over that protective boundary to press his thumb and forefinger on her chin, "when you're sober enough to appreciate them."

To retort with anything defending how sober she was right now would be admitting that she'd given him permission to do anything at all.

And yet she didn't flinch when his lips found hers, and her body burned with excitement when she felt his tongue. The wonders of two human bodies together. Could she go her whole life without this? He pulled away just as suddenly, though, and her stomach fell.

"Good night, Marin."

She watched him leave in a daze, every one of his footfalls matching the thudding in her chest.

Then it hit her.

Feeling nauseous, she cleaned up his dishes so fast she nearly smashed the beer bottles to bits. Then she mopped the floors, twice, in record time. Flipped all the chairs up on the tables, wiped down the counter so hard her rag began to tear.

But it didn't work. Nothing was erasing the reality.

What was a cheater? How did it happen so easily? She bit her lip until it bled as she walked home that evening, getting back well after midnight, obviously tipsy.

And there was Melan's loving face the moment she slid open the bedroom door. Everyone else had gone to sleep, but he had, of course, waited up for her again. She couldn't look him in the eyes, and she knew that was a bad sign.

"Marin, are you sure you don't want to take my ampule to work with you?" he asked when she slumped into a heap beside him on the tatami. In front of her was a cup of noodles that had gone cold. _Melan_.

"I'm sure," she said. She picked up the cup and started eating.

"You don't have to eat that," he said quickly, "It's cold now."

"It's delicious," she said. When the sound of Jund saying the same thing came to mind, she forced it out, replacing it with her memories of Melan. The countless little things. The bond neither one of them could escape even if they wanted to—and she certainly didn't. Their first kiss by the waterfall. His trepidation every time she told him she loved him. His strength when she needed him, and she needed him always. For the rest of her life she would need him.

But still, she needed something else, too. And today she'd gotten it, from entirely the wrong person.

The strange and familiar feeling of Melan's "hand" startled her. He'd touched one of his padded appendages to her cheek and was trying, she soon realized, to wipe away tears.

"What happened?" he asked, astutely aware that whatever it was, it required tenderness to solve. He just didn't have a clue about the kind of tenderness she wanted from him.

It would be easy enough to tell him, to just be honest. But now something had changed. Jund was involved. She couldn't say he was much more than a stranger still—they hadn't done much—and yet she couldn't say he wasn't, either. The truth, now, was something worse than her innocently deprived sex life. Now it was messy, and it both terrified and thrilled her to know what might happen because of it.

"Nothing happened," she lied.

"Then why are you crying?"

"I don't know."

"Are you still not feeling well?"

 _Not at all._

She slept that night turned away from Melan. She dreamed, vividly, of Jund's mouth biting down on her fingers the way he'd bitten down on chopsticks. When she awoke, he was the first thing on her mind, and she knew he would be the only thing on her mind all day long until she knew what that felt like for real. Or at least came close to it. Dangerously close.

Once Melan was safely back in his ampule, she flung open the closet cabinets and set to work getting dressed. This had never been a chore for her, but today was different. For the first time in a long time, she had someone to dress up for. She knew Jund would be in the shop. Her brain was stormy with resistance, but her body seemed to be dominating now. A new pair of underwear, a new bra, a clean pair of jeans, a v-necked blouse. All things she'd put away years ago after buying them with such a hopeful heart in her teens. She hoped they still fit.

No, she wouldn't let him kiss her again. Of course not. She loved Melan. But what was the harm in being noticed a little? No one would find out. Just one more day under those cappuccino eyes, and she was certain she could go another twenty years with not even a suggestive wink from Melan. At least that's what she told herself.

Feeling suddenly guilty, she slipped Melan's ampule into the pocket of her jeans. Maybe she wouldn't take him to work with her, but she could carry him around for the morning, at least. Her warmth would remind him he was loved.

When she came out of the bedroom, Melan quietly tucked away, she was startled by a strawberry shortcake sitting perfectly upright on the kitchen table. No one was around—they'd all left already for the day, but a note stuck out from the little paper doily the cake occupied.

 _We couldn't wait for your birthday. This has to be eaten right away! Don't worry, you'll have a bigger cake next week. We love you always (especially Melan)._

How did families do that? Read minds? She might as well have posted a personal agenda on the wall broadcasting her plans to meet with Jund. On impulse, her hand found the ampule in her pocket, stroking it faintly, a sensation she knew Melan could feel.

The sugar-dusted strawberries dazzled her. The doily looked so innocent, like her love for Melan had always been. Sighing, she looked down at herself, her neckline plunging, her bra peeking. It was hard not to hate herself, standing there beside such a beautiful little cake, Melan slumbering in his ampule in her pocket. This was peace.

And it wasn't enough.

Next week she would be one year older, and still without Melan's touch. She ate the cake without tasting it, just as outside it began to rain over the old city. Trains moved sluggishly today. People walked with a followed pace.

 _Do you always look this sad?_ she heard Jund ask. It was funny how getting so close to the thing she wanted made her pull away from it more than ever. Still, not even her family could keep her from Nana's Noodles tonight. The years had piled up too much, the questions, the doubts. It wasn't so easy, love. Sometimes it did hurt this much. All she needed was a little reassurance.

But she wasn't aware of what this meant even as she walked to work that evening. She had no idea what she was planning until she'd donned her apron and was smiling at the man coming through the door.

"Marin."

"Jund."

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 **Promise it'll end well. I don't like depressing endings.**

 **xoxo**

 **mangotea**


	3. Chapter 3

**A Chapter Three has appeared! :O Warning: partial lemon here. Jund is a player, and Marin is, well, you know.  
**

 **RushToward—"defeated externally" is the best way to describe what must happen to the pushy variety of random Chad. lol But let me take this chance to reassure you: no brawls in Nana's Noodles; it's not allowed. And yes, Marin is (s)exercising supreme intellect in this fic. I hope that's obvious enough. ;)**

 **Winterbornbree—You're absolutely right, and while I'm at it, nice pun. Melan is totally just as frustrated as Marin. They'll get that worked out in the next (and final) chapter, though, because of course this can only end one way (with a totally innocent birthday party? yeah). Thanks!**

* * *

Something in his smile was obviously different today. Something in hers was too.

"Give me the spiciest ramen you have," Jund said. There was a gap between his front teeth, open-hearted and endearing. He looked much more innocent than he was.

"You've moved on from the special?"

"I want something more exciting today."

Of course he did.

Just to see him squirm a little, she added more wasabi than necessary. He picked up on it right away, pulling back from the bar counter with exaggerated shock.

"You've spiked this with something, haven't you?" he asked.

"I assure you it's safe."

"I don't believe you."

"Then you'll just have to find out for yourself." She wondered if she'd just winked or not. She couldn't trust herself not to anymore.

The whole night their eyes were on each other. His watered as he ate, a small victory for her, but he braved through the whole bowl of noodles, obviously trying to prove something primitive to her. Primitive, but attractive also. And yet another thing Melan would never do.

She took other orders half-heartedly, wiped tables as though they were made of air. Her face burned for the whole two hours it took for closing time to come. The more time that passed, the more afraid she became, not knowing entirely what she was waiting for as she felt his eyes follow her. And yet at no point did she tell him to leave.

When everyone else had gone, she let Jund flip the sign himself. At this point he knew the drill. In fact, he knew more about her new job than Melan did. When he offered to help put all the chairs where they belonged, she didn't argue. He mopped the floor with her, arranged the counter, set fresh chopsticks on the tables. He even turned out the lights, and she didn't say a thing. But when he slipped those two fully-fingered hands around her waist and untied her apron for her, her capacity for protest returned.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He looked startled, given that she hadn't discouraged him at all until now.

"I'm helping you close up for the night," he said lithely, making short work of the knot at the base of her spine. He pulled the apron around and lifted it above her head, obscuring her from view for a moment until it came off entirely. Her hair dropped back against her shoulders, and he chuckled.

"What?"

"Your glasses are crooked."

Her hand went to them, but his was faster. Only instead of fixing them, he took them off entirely. Nearsighted, Marin didn't have trouble seeing him, but the sudden blurriness in the dark of the closed noodle shop was surprising. Something in the gesture was odd to her, too. Watching a stranger lay her glasses down on the counter made her feel as though some boundary had been pushed.

Jund smelled like a subtle cologne, something he'd put on that morning and worn away at the office. Now she was getting the remnants, a bittersweet pine smell that made her nose tingle.

"You look very nice today," he said, apparently appraising her as much as she was him.

"And you smell nice," she said back without thinking.

"Do I?"

"Like the forest."

"And do you like woodsmen?"

She thought of the waterfall all at once and forced it out just as fast. "Nope, just the woods."

"Well that's a shame, then, isn't it? Because I thought I could charm you with dignified cologne." He sniffed his collar. In the dull light from the street, everything was dimmed, making the movement seem slower than it was. "I guess I'm not really fooling anyone, am I?"

She smiled. "Not me."

"Fine, fine." He dropped her apron on the counter. "What you see is what you get. I hope that doesn't disappoint."

She paused, and he felt the change. Pulling away a little, he checked her over. With Jund everything was fast and intentional. With Melan it had taken years. She had no proper reference for men. She didn't know how to pull away from Jund now without hurting him.

Even more worrying: she wasn't sure when she'd become concerned about hurting him.

"Do you want a beer?" she asked suddenly, hoping to move his mind away from whatever it was he planned to do now that her apron was off.

He laughed. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Not at all."

"Then I'd rather we just skip drinks altogether." He leaned closer. The smell was almost overwhelmingly pleasant. "You?"

She hesitated. "Um, I'm actually a little thirsty…."

Her resistance was obvious; she knew that much. She felt her cheeks flushing even harder than they usually did around Jund as he leaned an elbow against the counter and stared at her seriously.

"Marin."

"Yeah?"

"If you want me to go, I'll go."

No, she didn't want him to leave. She really didn't. But she didn't exactly want him to stay either, did she?

"Don't go," she heard herself say, just faintly enough for him to hear.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, heart pounding, knowing full well what it meant for him to stay.

"All right."

He wasn't as tall as Melan, or as broad. He didn't have the steady bass voice that vibrated through her when Melan kissed her and said good night. He didn't have nearly half of the love for her that Melan had. And yet he was beautiful, and human, and warm, and very, very near.

Something in her pocket hummed, but she hardly noticed. The feeling of Jund suddenly moving his whole self close to her was too distracting. He leaned down for a kiss, and she accepted it. She did.

Then there was another one, and several feathery kisses on her neck to follow. Her eyes rolled upward as he found her collarbone, slipping back the fabric of her blouse with his thumb. Slowly he eased her into the idea of staying this close, even of wrapping her arms around him. She felt his shoulder blades moving in and out as his hands went to undo her buttons. Her heart pounded anxiously. She wasn't sure when to pull away. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

When her blouse began to come off her shoulders—just a little—she shivered at the feeling of fingers on her back. This had him smiling; she could tell by the satisfied hum that came from him as he kissed her earlobe. He knew what he was doing; it didn't take long for the rest of the top to follow, landing in a fluttery red billow on the floor. Once it was gone, he kissed her everywhere, and generously slow. Likely wary of scaring her off, he avoided her breasts altogether, opting instead to kiss her as his hands found her back and pressed into it.

It all seemed pretty safe—something she could easily talk herself out of—until he abandoned the position entirely. She had no time to ask him what he was doing, though, as deftly he slid around so that he was standing behind her. From there his mouth had access to everything she couldn't see: her shoulders, her spine, the backs of her ribs.

It was too much for her to understand, the sudden overwhelming touches. But her body knew it and welcomed it easily. Well, almost easily.

The more Jund kissed her, the more her heart swelled until it felt ready to crack. Melan invaded the room. His scent—yes, he did have one—his voice, his smile. It was almost as if he were there, and for a moment she tried to convince herself it was him curling his arms around her from behind, slowly rocking clothed hips against her with a precision she knew he wouldn't really have. This was obviously the last chance to end this smoothly, but Marin was too surprised to speak. When she felt Jund's fingers undoing the zipper of her jeans, releasing the metal button, officially announcing to her that she was letting this happen, she barely had time to gasp before a certain pressure in her pocket made itself known.

Her heart faltered.

 _The ampule._

At the worst moment, Jund slipped one of those long fingers under the waistband of her unfamiliar panties. She jumped. The ampule shivered with life.

"You're beautiful," she heard Jund murmur against her skin. Then, with horror, she felt those teeth drag down her neck. They were everything she'd hoped they would be, and yet now she wished she'd never had the chance to know.

Judging by the activity in the ampule, Melan wanted her to call him out. No doubt, she now understood, he was feeling the pressure of her anxiety and thought she was in trouble.

It wouldn't be an overstatement. The only problem was she'd put herself in this trouble willingly.

Her heart pounded as Jund's finger slipped between her folds, finding there a heat so strong he laughed approvingly into her ear. The more she leaned back against him, feeling the strange warmth from a strange body, the more she realized how deeply she'd sunk. Yes, she was in trouble. Melan churned, worried. She would have to face him. But how could she?

"What's wrong?" she heard Jund say.

She all but fell forward against the counter as he hiked a finger upward. Catching herself with a white-knuckled grip, she could only manage a whisper.

"I t-think…."

Jund licked her earlobe before answering. "What?"

She swallowed, hard. This was everything she'd wanted—she liked Jund; she loved Jund's hands—and yet it wasn't what she wanted at all, not really. Until it was Melan, it would never be enough. She wished she'd realized that sooner. Much sooner.

"I think we should stop," she managed to say through increasingly labored breaths.

"What?" His hand paused. _"Now?"_

"I'm sorry," she said tinily.

She heard Jund sigh before dropping his forehead against her shoulder. It was so warm.

"Marin, don't do this to me."

She knew enough to be fairly certain that Jund was uncomfortable enough as it was. All at once it occurred to her that he might not be so willing to stop as he'd been the night before. A sobering thought, this made her straighten all the way back to standing, half ready to dislodge his fingers herself, until he drove them deeper in. With a yelp she arched her back against him, grabbing his arm fiercely, pressing into the firm skin there that Melan just didn't have. She felt warm trails coming down her thighs and flooding his hand.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" he said. "You don't have to be shy."

"Jund—"

He answered with his hand, moving his fingers faster. Her thoughts dissolved into colors. She fought to get them back again, but all she could do instead was grab at Jund's arms and lean into his chest, breathing hard. She wanted him to stop, but her body just plain wanted him. She nearly clawed ten gashes into his skin from the pressure of her frustrated grip. At last, he took note.

His fingers paused. She breathed a huge shuddering sigh.

"Please don't tell me you're serious," he said.

She heard his heart beating wildly next to her ear. Had she done that to him?

"I'm s-sorry," was all she could manage between breaths.

After a significant pause, he pulled away at last, sliding his hands out of her jeans. The cold air that met her back was both relieving and unpleasant. She couldn't turn to face him, and the silence was purely unbearable until she felt a hand on her bare shoulder. He squeezed lightly, with all the gentleness she imagined Melan would have.

"Don't apologize," he said. "It just makes it worse."

He picked her blouse up off the floor and slid it over her arms.

"I get it," he went on, exhaling with effort. "Too fast for you. I'm too old to get all bent out of shape about it."

His words didn't match his tone, or the defeated sigh that followed. He turned her around, and she could just barely make out his eyes in the light from the street. She couldn't tell if he was angry or not, and for a second she actually considered calling Melan.

Before she could say anything, though, he touched his fingers to her chin as he'd done the day before. She thought he might kiss her, but after studying her face until he was satisfied, he sighed again and dropped his hand.

"Damn you're beautiful," he said, and she was glad he couldn't see her blushing. "Are you sure you want to stop?"

She felt the ampule in her pocket more than ever. She wasn't sure she could keep Melan back any longer. She nodded.

"Fine, I won't be the guy to push you. But dammit, Marin, just..." He knocked his knuckles against the countertop. "Hell."

With that he did kiss her, but this time not anywhere scintillating. And yet this kiss did more to unsettle her composure than anything he'd done in the last hour. Leaning close enough for her to smell the Jund behind the cologne, a very welcoming blend of laundry soap and coffee, he kissed her temple.

"Thanks for the meal," he said, and she knew he was smirking.

She had to say something. "Jund," she tried, "you didn't—"

He waved a hand to stop her. "Please just let me sound like a gentleman and bow out now before I'm tempted to kiss you again." He smiled, and he'd never been so handsome as he was then. "You know how to find me."

Watching Jund walk out of Nana's Noodles for the third and probably last time made her feel dizzy. She put both hands on the counter and took a long breath, wondering how the hell so much had happened in three days. But then again, she supposed her whole life had a way of happening in wild bursts.

"Melan Blue," she muttered, dropping her head with a shame she'd never felt before, "what are we going to do…."

"You're not wearing your glasses," was the first thing he said when he materialized.

Jumping, she nearly crashed into the ceramic sake decanters behind her as her eyes struggled to focus on Melan. Apparently hearing his name had done the trick.

She noticed him looking her up and down with an interest she hadn't seen in years, and then she realized her glasses weren't the only thing she wasn't wearing. Hands flying to her blouse and jeans, she buttoned them up clumsily, praying her hair didn't look as lovingly abused as she feared it probably was.

"Marin, what happened?"

Was that—no— _suspicion_ in his voice? She knew she shouldn't be happy about this, but she'd done a lot of things today she knew she shouldn't have. And she also knew she couldn't lie, not anymore. Now, knowing what she'd been missing, she'd passed a point of no return. Either Melan knew the truth, all of it, or she would never be able to keep him.

"Melan," she said, having to swallow the knot forming in her throat several times before she could continue, "I need to talk to you."

* * *

 **Could've done that quite a few years ago, Marin. A hot and bothered Melan ahead.  
**

 **xoxo**

 **mangotea**


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh my God it's finally finished (yeah that's a pun). I'm sorry for the _long_ wait, but here it is! **

**Since it's been a while, I won't respond to individual reviews, but instead I'll say a massive _thank you_ to everyone who has read/will read and shared their thoughts on this little piece. I've been completely stunned by how thorough and amazing you all are, and I'm sending you a shit ton of sappy love because there really can't ever be enough of that. You've all given me joy—I hope this final chapter gives you some in return. ;) Also Melan is a hot motherfucker, right? Finally he can show it off to Marin.**

* * *

Melan stared at the tatami a long time after she'd stopped talking. Some things from Melan were far more terrifying than his weaponry and his brawn; his silence was one of them.

"I'm sorry," Marin said, adding to the long list of apologies she'd already started an hour ago, when she and Melan had slipped unheard into the bedroom after an equally quiet walk home. They could have flown, her back to Melan's stomach as they'd done for years, but she'd insisted on walking. For the first time, being so close to him didn't seem like something she could stand.

While Melan had waited on the tatami, perfectly still, she'd showered, put on her same-old, same-old pajamas, and brushed her teeth several times until no traces of Jund, or wasabi, lingered. The air in the bedroom smelled of vanilla, the same way it had smelled for years. Nothing fancy or particularly womanly about it, but it was what she knew. Breathing it in now felt like coming home to herself. Maybe that's how she'd gotten the courage to speak at all.

She still couldn't find the right words though. Telling him she'd almost had sex with a stranger was leagues more preferable than admitting she'd quietly wanted _him_ since she was a teenager. One had an almost respectable quality of regular human vice; the other was just pathetic.

She tried to prepare herself for the worst, for Melan standing, turning those red eyes on her, and then launching from the balcony and never coming back. Something final like that. She wasn't naive enough to pretend he didn't have a right to, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

"Marin, don't cry," she heard him say, and her head snapped up.

His eyes hadn't left the tatami, but he knew her cues well.

"I'm just—" she began, having to clear her throat before she could continue, "sorry."

He sighed.

"You're human," he said. "It only makes sense you would seek out other humans eventually." He looked like he wanted to say more but suddenly couldn't find his voice. He'd gathered his arms between his legs and was leaning them against his knees, his face shadowed in the soft light of the room. He wasn't leaving—not yet anyway. He didn't even seem angry. He was simply crushed, and somehow that was much harder for her to deal with than any kind of outburst.

"I always wondered," he said finally.

"Wondered what?"

He looked at her, and her heart split when she saw his expression.

"If you were unhappy."

Where normally she would have rushed to his side, now she felt she didn't have the right. Her hands longed to be on him. She pinned them to her thighs.

Saying _I love you_ now felt like a contradiction. She wanted to hate Jund for landing her in this position, and in a way she did, but she'd never been one to run away from a fight, least of all a fight for Melan. And besides that, Jund was a nice guy. If she hadn't ended up with Melan, she may have wanted someone like him. As much as she hated to admit it, he hadn't forced her into anything. She had caused this all by herself, and it was up to her to fix it.

"That isn't it, Melan."

"Then _why?_ "

She wiped her face vigorously and steeled her nerves. More than sex, she'd been missing out on honesty. If she couldn't admit to loving him madly, feverishly—more than she knew how to handle—then she didn't have what it took to be beside him in the first place.

" _Unhappy_ isn't the right word for it." She paused, feeling her face growing hot. "I'm not unhappy, Melan."

"Then what's wrong?"

There was no way to say it without hurting him. Her throat dried.

"I'm lonely."

This flipped a switch in him. He straightened, got a bit of energy back. "You could have taken me to work with you when you got the job at the noodle shop."

"Yeah, as my _protector_. Not as my partner."

Melan's face said it all—he didn't understand the difference. "I _am_ your partner."

Her eyes openly scanned his midsection, drifting down to where they always stopped. She hoped he would notice that much at least, but he just waited for her to go on. Irritated, she cleared her throat and tried again, certain she'd never felt more stupid in her life.

"As a _man_. A male partner."

"But haven't I—"

"Sex," she said, so forcefully it made the whole room seem to shrink. "I'm talking about sex." She wished she could run out of the apartment. It was funny how this had all been so much easier with Jund. A few days, and the guy had a hand down her jeans. After this many years, she could still barely look at Melan without losing her focus. Now with the word sex in the air, she sure as hell couldn't manage that much.

It wasn't the light in the room making Melan's cheeks look darker, though. He'd dropped his legs to the tatami, and he wasn't taking his eyes off her. Even being non-human, he seemed to understand that this was not the typical route to seduction. There was some level of tact involved, at the very least. She'd caught him totally off his guard.

Marin felt her face burn as well, all thoughts disintegrating as she went on. "I don't know why I never brought it up. I guess I was too scared of ruining this perfect… _thing_ we have. We're so polite to each other, Melan. We never fight. We never get…."

"Close?"

Their eyes met. And suddenly he seemed a stranger to her, like he'd been when they'd first found each other. They knew each other so well, but did they really?

"Yes," she said, unable to argue with herself about it anymore. "We're not close."

He seemed to flinch a little, but he hid it well. "And that's why you…."

"Yes."

She hated herself for causing the expression on his face. His gaze had darkened, and if her heart was burning this much in her chest, she imagined his was hurting much more, whatever it was.

"I thought you would be upset if I asked," she said, feeling brutally honest, almost numbed to consequences at this point. "I don't even know if it's possible for us, not traditionally anyway. And not that I care about that, but I've wondered for years if you even have…well…what is required." She cleared her throat, then looked him fully in the eyes. "I made a mistake," she said. "A huge one. I hurt you. I understand if you want to leave. I won't try to stop you."

Speaking the scenario aloud, her tears finally arrived. She knew it wasn't true—she _would_ try to stop him. Losing him mattered more than she had apparently realized when she'd taken Jund into the shop. Still, her voice didn't leave her. She forged through the rest of what she had to say.

"I love you, Melan, forever. And I'm sorry. I didn't do any of this right—"

An arm came into view. "I understand," he said, interrupting. "Stop, Marin."

She didn't.

"I was only thinking of you when I met him. I wanted it to be you, and that just made me sick. I don't know why I—"

"Marin."

"What?" she said through sobs.

He stood. She watched him cross the tatami. She watched him sit down in front of her. She watched him plant his arms on either side of her. She watched all of this, and still she didn't expect the kiss.

It was different, distinctly, from any other kiss she'd shared with him before. It wasn't much more than lips on lips, but something was new. Something about the way he breathed—deeply—and then leaned into her, and then, without warning, encouraged her head to tilt backward so he could kiss her completely from his greater height.

Time passed. Years passed. She didn't know. By the time the kiss was over, her body had done a thorough job of telling her exactly what it had meant. She was shaking slightly. She knew she'd been forgiven. She'd been forgiven from the start.

"I wish you had told me," Melan said, hovering still just inches from her face. His red eyes shone with something she'd definitely seen in them before—pain—and then with something totally new to her—desire. It wasn't subtle, despite his hurt, and she reacted to it more than she ever thought she would.

The room suddenly seemed far too small, the lights too bright, and her pajamas too concealing. She wanted her skin on his. She wanted that kiss.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. She hardly recognized him.

"I know." He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were calmer, but he still hadn't moved. "But this is my fault."

"Hell no it isn't," Marin insisted. She should've seen this coming. Of course he would want to blame himself before ever blaming his precious Marin.

"It is. I should have paid more attention to you."

"Melan, you always pay attention to me."

"Except in one very important way, apparently."

"I hid it from you!"

"No. I just never noticed."

They were all but glaring at one another now. The air between them was hot and difficult to breathe, a mix of an obvious desire to kiss again and an opposing desire to scream.

"Melan—"

"Marin—"

"Oh, fuck it."

Marin grabbed him. He didn't fight her. Unlike the last, this kiss was feverish, if clumsy. Finding it overwhelmingly warm, Marin groaned and coiled her arms around his neck on instinct. It was the most comfortable feeling, having her hands on him like this. Despite the guilt that still made her chest sting, she was happy. She was smiling against him. Her fingers found his spine, his jaw. Things she'd wanted to touch freely for years.

The urgency surprised them both, but especially Melan. Breaking away at last, and now breathing with difficulty, he stared at her wide-eyed.

She could only stare back at him, flushed.

With a small and nervous smile, he leaned forward, kissed her forehead, and then—to her great disappointment—stood. This was enough to force her voice back.

"Where are you going?" she snapped, worried he was heading for that balcony after all.

But Melan just turned off the overhead light, replacing its glare with the glow of a lamp. The man understood mood apparently. She'd never given him enough credit. He then got out their futons and threw them open with such speed and precision, she was reminded yet again that he was more than human. And that only turned her on more.

"I will not have this be anything less than ideal for you," he said, dead serious, patting down the futons roughly with his heel.

Following suit, she crawled onto them, staring up at him with a whole new level of wonder. She would've thrown off her pajamas herself had he not kneeled and begun to do it for her. Stopping her sloppily unbuttoning hands with his appendages, he lifted her pajama shirt over her head and then leaned in for another kiss. Which was good, because it kept her from covering her breasts with her hands like she wanted to do.

"Marin," he said when they pulled away. "You should know this much—I do have 'what is required.'"

She blushed. Her eyes immediately drifted downward, and this time he noticed. But instead of removing the layer of armor that protected him there—and she was dying to see that process in its own right—he pulled off her glasses just like Jund had. A gentle gesture, almost platonic, but unlike when Jund had done it, it did wonders to make her feel safe. She didn't even know she wanted that, to feel safe, until he laid her down on her back and kissed her seriously.

The position was intimidating, him being so much bigger than her, blocking out the small light from the lamp in the corner. She'd been this close to him plenty of times, but this was not familiar. She searched his face with her eyes, her heart pounding, and reached forward without thinking to press her hands against his chest.

"It is different from usual," Melan said, leaning into her touch.

"A lot different," Marin said as she slid her hands to his shoulders, and then down his arms. Melan gave a satisfied hum at the contact. "Do you really feel that?" she asked.

"Yes."

"No, I mean does it feel…."

"Yes."

She smiled. And then so did he.

Her hands found their way back over his shoulders and down to his midsection, where she paused, hesitant to go any lower. She felt him react. It was a strange thing, like she'd never really touched him before.

Melan interrupted her with another kiss before she could start thinking too much about it. He moved from her lips to her chin, and then to her neck, and this felt so good and real that she forgot herself a moment and moaned.

Melan peered down at her; she peered up at him.

"Your body is fascinating," he said.

"Shut up!" she said back, hitting his head lightly. "How do you even know…."

"I read."

"About sex?"

"About humans."

They stared at one another. Even in the dim light, she could read his eyes as much as always. He seemed to be asking if she were certain she wanted to cross this bridge. Having him there between her legs, intent on granting her request simply because she'd asked, and after what she'd done…. It made her head spin. Was it always this simple with Melan, and she'd never seen it?

When she didn't seem like she would move, Melan spoke up. "What would you like me to do?"

She swallowed, feeling awkward. She didn't know. All she could think about was loving him. How full her heart was around him. This was no stranger. Jund may have had experience, but Melan truly loved her.

She couldn't handle the sudden swelling in her heart, so she hugged him, his face ending up in her chest. It would have been a comfortable position had he not been radiating sexual frustration. The man needed to move. She blushed furiously when she felt his tongue find the skin between her breasts.

"Melan!"

"Marin."

She knew this tone. Now he was focused.

His appendages weren't hands—far from it. They were capable of attaching to things, and that was about it. This made them useful for getting hold of her panties and pulling them off, almost too slowly. Surprising herself, she didn't fight this at all. The nakedness wasn't embarrassing, only warm. Orange from the little lamp cast its glow over her stomach, which pulsed with her heartbeat. Melan ran a padded touch over it, and then past it, to her thigh. His darkened eyes were focused and gentle at once. She didn't have to protect herself from him, and her body knew it.

Bending, he pressed his lips to her side and kissed his way down. Only then did it occur to her what he intended.

She felt him smiling when she widened her legs impulsively.

"Don't be so smug," she said.

"I suspect I am winning against him," he said. "I can't help it."

She blushed. Was that how he saw it?

He didn't give her time to ponder this. With his 'hands,' he pressed into her hips as he parted her folds with his tongue and pushed in. The feeling that shot through her then dwarfed whatever pleasure she'd had from Jund's fingers. Melan's touch was gentle, even unsure, but that didn't seem to matter. Her hips flew upward—he pushed them back down, and she could feel him smiling even more.

Grabbing his head with both hands, she felt her back arch, every muscle tensing as he flicked his tongue experimentally, noticing quickly what she responded to. His tongue wasn't as warm as Jund's, but it didn't need to be. It was Melan's, and that's all it took. Marin tried to bite back her moans, but she was failing, so she clamped her hands over her mouth. Even so, a part of her mind refused to let her enjoy this entirely, filling her thoughts with images of Jund. She fought them off, determined to focus on Melan and Melan alone.

But it wasn't working. She still felt guilty.

Apparently sensing that this was taking a long time, longer than it probably should, Melan pulled away to peer up at her. The shine on his mouth and chin made her stir.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"I'm just sorry."

Melan frowned. "Should I try something else?"

"No, it's not that."

"I don't understand."

She bit her lip. She needed something to help her forget Jund entirely. "Melan, your armor."

He looked down at himself, still fully covered. It took a moment for him to follow. "There isn't much to see underneath," he said.

"Well it's gotta come off at some point anyway."

"We can take our time. It takes human women at least thirty minutes to fully—"

"In thirty minutes I want to be on round three, Melan."

They both blushed at this, but especially Melan. She'd interrupted his pace, something he'd been working hard to maintain, having had no real experience with this. But he didn't need it apparently—just seeing him frustrated like this in their bedroom, his mind irrefutably on sex, was enough for her. He was as beautiful as ever, but his composure was slightly shattered. And she loved it. And she wanted to see more of it.

She reached for him, trying to sort out how to remove the plating.

"It's easier than you think," he said.

"What, do I just press a butt—"

He made a slight gesture with his head, and immediately the padding that protected his torso began to recede like elastic into the exterior plates. She saw that familiar shade of gray-blue skin, and the toned stomach, and, beyond that….

Her face turned bright red.

"Human enough?" he said. It sounded like he was legitimately wondering.

She nodded. He was hard, and big. And her legs were opening even wider before she realized what was happening.

"Melan…" she said, clearly distracted.

"I suppose I shouldn't waste too much time, should I. Given that it has already been twenty-two minutes."

She would have laughed if she'd understood him at all. Instead she closed her eyes and leaned back against the futon, feeling everything ten times more. The soft fabric on her bare skin. The warmth of late summer in the air coming through the windows. The smell of vanilla, and of him.

So lost, she didn't expect the appendage he'd positioned right at her entrance. It felt much bigger than she'd thought they were, but still it slid inside without much fuss, or half of the pain she'd been anticipating all these years. He was improvising well. The smooth edges made getting it in easy enough, but it certainly didn't feel romantic. She started to tense up a bit, and Melan, knowing apparently that this hardly compared to fingers, loomed over her and began delivering kisses. These were extremely effective at getting her attention back on him, enough so that she felt her body coercing itself to accommodate something much larger. She wanted Melan.

"I can't wait," she whispered, hyperaware of how blunt she was being, and of how little she cared.

"Well, neither can I," she heard him say, with something of a strain, into her ear. "But I recommend that we do. Human women—"

"Melan, please."

He stilled, oppressively silent all of a sudden.

And then, in the space of the next ten seconds, she felt him slide out the appendage, leaving behind an odd open feeling she'd never had before, loom over her so that once again she was reminded of his size, especially compared to Jund, and push himself in. All of this happened so fast it barely registered with her that she was having sex. With Melan. At last. Her body was suddenly too busy feeling happily full to allow her brain time to think.

The both of them fell into an easy rhythm, all of their sexual frustration over thousands of days bubbling and running over. Even for a virgin, her body cooperated excessively well, accepting his impressive length as she curled her legs around his hips, something that had him—Melan Blue—moaning. He buried his face into her neck, kissing her with all the love he'd ever held back. And she arched her back and let him. It was safe to say that Jund had been exorcized from her mind, as had anything else but one thought—how good this felt. There was a characteristic sting, some aches she only half noticed, but mostly the sheer closeness was enough to make her happier than she'd been in years.

She wasn't sure how long it lasted, aware only of each thrust that wracked her entirely, and of his voice in her ear, saying things she couldn't hear. And of the blood rushing so fast to her heart that she could barely breathe. Every little piece of herself that she'd kept from him came tumbling out, and he took them all and loved them with the same gentle strength with which his body rocked against hers.

 _Fucking hell, this is love-making,_ she thought, dizzy and slowly realizing a dull pain as he grabbed her tightly. They both tensed. She heard his breath catch, and she felt enormously victorious. There was a comfortable warmth, which he rode out as he assaulted her neck with kisses she was certain he didn't know he was giving. This was the Melan she'd always wanted to see, the one who had forgotten himself entirely. She knew he would return to himself eventually, but she savored the moment until she felt him utterly collapse into her chest, and her heart gave a fond leap. Her hands found his head. He groaned, totally spent.

Not that now was the time to notice this, but he was also quite warm. Most likely her fault—who needed a human? Melan was plenty comfortable. For a while they just breathed, Melan seemingly lost in feeling, and Marin staring up at the ceiling in a similar condition. She smiled, her heart feeling complete, and more importantly, understood. But there was one thing missing.

Melan noticed it first.

She felt him begin to stir, and she knew he wasn't just repositioning. He moved with purpose, and then she noticed where: with his head between her legs again.

"Melan—" she began but was interrupted by his tongue, and this time he wasn't experimenting. Apparently determined to make her lose her mind, he teased at her clit with a desperate passion she would have loved to have noticed more clearly. The problem was her brain entirely gave up on her, and so did her body. Gripping his shoulders and forcing her thighs against him, she nearly screamed. It took everything she had to put a hand in her mouth and bite it, and even then she knew she was loud.

Melan made no attempt to stop her, however, as he too seemed entirely invested in nothing but the two of them, the heat she was radiating, and the absolute pleasure of being unfeasibly close.

It didn't take long at all. Probably less than a minute, but neither of them was privy to the passage of time at the moment. Locking him in between her legs involuntarily, she moaned his name without any regard for who or where they were. Dully, she felt his appendages pressing into her stomach—not to keep her down, but to tell her he was with her, that she was sharing this with him. It probably would have made her cry if she weren't drowning in so much bliss.

"Melan…." she whispered again when the heaving of her chest subsided.

"Mm," he said back, obviously listening but even less capable than she was of speaking.

Every muscle in her body both ached and felt like liquid at the same time. But perhaps more noticeable was the feeling of her heart. It swelled. Pompously. Showing no signs of backing down.

She was happy.

There was a long silence. At some point, Melan stood, wobbling some, and turned off the lamp in the corner. As Marin's eyes adjusted to the low light coming in from the city outside, his silhouette came back into view, followed by that of a blanket. This he draped over her, settling down next to her. Without any hesitation he nudged her upward some so he could slide an arm underneath her, and she took the cue immediately to cuddle up against his chest. He kissed her sweating forehead. None of this was discussed. It didn't need to be anymore. And she knew it probably wouldn't need to be again.

Again she felt like crying, and she couldn't tell if it was joy or the heaviness of the last few days coming down on her. Melan probably sensed it because she felt an appendage rest softly on her back. Tears threatened even more seriously then, so she decided to speak to prevent them somehow.

"Melan."

"Yes?"

"I think you are very good at this."

She could see his red eyes shine a bit in the dark. "Selfishly, I am glad you have no other reference."

"That's very human of you."

"I'm not entirely far off."

"No," she said, blushing suddenly as she remembered that he was still basically unclothed—as much as he could be. If she just reached down his stomach….

A happy hum from him silenced her thoughts.

"What?" she asked.

He looked at her. The love in his stare was enormous. The room was full of it. He looked away.

"What?" she pressed. "What were you gonna say?"

She felt the appendage on her back press her harder into him. "I love you."

In every image in her mind of how their first time might go, Melan ending with this line always happened, because…it was Melan. But she hadn't been counting on it doing so much to her.

Squeezing him so tightly she heard him grunt with mild discomfort, she muttered it back to him, against his skin. She knew both of them were blushing, but she didn't risk looking up at him. There was only so much of this she could handle at one time.

"And also…" he said, his voice slightly concerned. This had her peeking, but his face only looked amused. "Perhaps it is time we moved out."

"Are you saying I'm loud?" she said, very red and very grateful for the darkness.

"You are passionate."

"Melan!" She whacked his chest with her palm, which he grabbed with his other appendage, and this made her jump.

"What was that about wanting to be on round three by now?"

She dove downward, refusing to look at him.

"Marin…."

"Don't talk to me," she muttered.

"All right. But may I rest beside you?"

"…Yes."

It wasn't long afterward that she was asleep, unknowingly cradling him—and he her—throughout the rest of the night. When the sun arrived, she felt she'd somehow slept several weeks and had already had her birthday celebration. No doubt she'd already had her present—he was still beside her. Eyes still closed, he seemed perfectly himself, the Melan she'd been tiptoeing around for years. But she knew he was different. Her body told her so, aching lightly and entirely pleased. It would take time to forget what had happened with Jund, for her to forgive herself, but she knew Melan already considered it old news. No one deserved that kind of love. But then, that's just what love was, she supposed.

No, she knew. She pressed her lips to his cheek, and his eyes opened. The sun in them was dazzling.

"Good morning, Melan," she said, smiling genuinely.

"Good morning."

* * *

 **XOXO  
**

 **mangotea**


End file.
